


Midnight Snack

by unitcircle



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Emotional Eating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unitcircle/pseuds/unitcircle
Summary: Few people know that cheese is the Grand Magister's favourite midnight snack.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I make Rommath into an emotional eater? Because of this: http://elaatmik.tumblr.com/post/150465106808/shinyforce-modern-au-lorthemar-hears-a-noise

It starts off innocently enough: a glass of red wine after a far-too-long day. Wine on an empty stomach is never a wise choice though, so Rommath hunts through the kitchen for something to ease his growling belly. He finds a wedge of Dalaran Sharp – wine and cheese, how _decadent_  - and tells himself that the bite is the cheese, and not the thought of Aethas Sunreaver who gifted it.

The next night is not so different, except he’s so exhausted that he skips the wine and falls straight into bed with a plate of cheese. He doesn’t think about Sunreaver at all this time. Instead Rommath loses himself in the pungent aroma that has him licking his fingers when he’s done. The cat looks at him in what he believes is understanding.

The third night he gets home early – well, earlier than usual, early enough that he was able to make a trip to the deli on the way. The little snack of cheese has been settling him into sleep quite effectively, but the Dalaran Sharp is almost finished. He swaps it for the rustic Garadar variety, grabs some water crackers and joins Lor’themar in the parlour for a rare night in each other’s company.

Rommath’s weeks continue, and he slowly works his way through the cheesemonger’s recommendations. He returns to the Dalaran Sharp as often as he can stomach the memories it drags up, Aethas’ failings reminding him of his own.

Then all fel breaks loose. Vol’jin is dead, Sylvanas  - _Sylvanas!_  - is running the show, and it’s not even a consolation that the Alliance is equally destabilised after Wrynn senior’s demise. Their tentative talks of peace have fallen to the wayside in the chaos as both factions scramble to recover. Rommath, along with Lor’themar, Brightwing and Liadrin, has spent very spare moment rallying their people for a new war. He subsists on three hours of sleep a night and frequent snacks. He hasn’t had time for a sit-down meal in – he can’t recall. All he sees of Lor’themar is their hurried meetings, where they discuss only battle plans and logistics. Lor’themar looks drawn and tired, too thin even for an elf. Rushing from crisis to crisis, they barely have the energy to nod at each other. Their late night trysts seem a world away. It is a sacrifice he must make, he tells himself. He must put his people before all else. If he does not, if he falters, if they fall to the Legion… _No_. No, he won’t let that happen.

Suddenly, even cheese cannot soothe the dread that washes over him. He imagines failure, and betrayal, and it all seems so hopeless. He curls up in bed, tonight’s snack abandoned. His churning gut cannot handle it.

An hour later, Rommath is up again, woken by the need to relieve himself. His appetite returns in force once he’s on his feet, so he makes his way along the dark hallway to the kitchen. The cat winds around his feet. “I suppose you can have a little treat too,” he tells it, a flicker of a smile creeping onto his face. Oh, to lead the simple life of a cat!

Rommath gets the cat a slice of raw bacon, then sets about finding something for himself. He’s all out of Dalaran Sharp, he notices. And the Darnassian Bleu… hmm, perhaps he finished that yesterday? Or was that the Stormwind Brie? He can’t remember; each day has blurred into every other. He is sure, though, that he has some aged cheddar stashed away. The cheesemonger had dared to call it _fine_ , though Rommath will be the judge of that. He licks his lips as he searches, shoving food aside until his hand comes to rest on the block. He crams it in his mouth, not even bothering to slice it first. He moans at the explosion of creamy flavour on his tongue. _Fine indeed._ The stuff is worth its weight in gold.

“Rommath,” comes a voice behind him. Cheeks puffed out from hunks of cheese, Rommath whirls around to face it. Lor’themar’s singular eye glints in the candlelight. “Rommath, we need to talk.”


End file.
